212 THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 



"Just what I expected !" he growls, and feeds the 

 gas again. 



On, on, we rush, and alight in the Valley along- 

 side the Leasburg Diversion Dam on the river, lake 

 and western mesa brooding violet blue in the late 

 afternoon sun. We are yet seventeen miles north 

 of Las Cruces, but what is that after our extensive 

 wanderings? We race along the level, passing 

 ruined Fort Selden, our souls filled with scorn for 

 the humdrum Sunday outing folks, content to prowl 

 in their cars through the settled agricultural bot- 

 tomlands, while we have been exploring the wilds 

 and heights. One after another we hoot at the 

 flivvers and pass them by. 



"Prythee why so fast?" I inquire. "We are short 

 of gas, and think how humiliating it would be if a 

 Tin Lizard overtook us and we had to plead with it 

 for food !" 



"That's why I'm making time," is the retort. "I'm 

 going to get back before the gas gives out !" 



Which he does — just ! As we slow down at the 

 door the indicator on the tank marks only a hairs- 

 breadth from O. 



But we had made sixty-five joyful miles on our 

 "little afternoon drive." 



